24 - A serious student

“What’s the point of a university, if we’re afraid of learning?

What’s the point of scholarship, if we’re afraid of the truth?

What use is prudence, when the moon is broken, and demons rain from the sky?

We must allow full study of the Precursor ruins, including magical experimentation. Ignorance won’t mend the sky, and kids with silver bullets won’t keep demons at bay forever.”

Dean’s speech to the University of Rakavdon, just before her retirement, 2710

“Meet the new you,” Iketek says, as she grabs my wrist and swipes it over her tablet.

A green checkmark flashes on the screen, and then a datasphere profile appears - picture, personal data, academic curriculum - for a kid who is very obviously not me.

Iketek sends the picture to full screen, then she waves her hand, and with a trail of golden sparks, her tablet floats next to the mirror. Now I see my real reflection, side by side with the face of someone I could be. Which is exactly how my magic works best.

“Get to work,” she says. “Once you make the Lie, I’ll check you with several face-scanning apps, and see if you can fool it. You must match your new identity, from any angle. We’ll check voice and gait recognition, too, but those are less important – you just have to make sure they don’t match your real identity, so you don’t trigger some ThauCon surveillance algorithm.”

I look at my reflection, and the pictures on the tablet. My new ID is called Tharvais, twenty-three years old. Xe has dark brown skin, big horizontal eyes without the epicanthic fold, and a larger nose than mine.

No, not mine - Korentis’s.

Slowly, taking care not to upset the Veil, I Reach into the Else. Not deep, but enough to see both the world that is, and a hint of the worlds that could be.

I claim the gift of magic, I claim the Art of the Veil. My eyes shall see the Else, my hands shall tear the Veil.

My view tinges in sapphire blue, and the Here starts splitting in a kaleidoscope of possibilities - but I don’t want that. I’m learning how to control the flow of visions, keeping them confined to what I need.

So, I weave the strands of possibilities with my fingers and tie them into ever-changing knots, then I run a finger along the mirror’s perimeter and sketch an anchor glyph. The Here snaps back into focus, except for the mirror itself. The bathroom around me is perfectly normal, made of solid, static matter, but in the mirror, I see the swirling chaos of the Else. I swell with pride – I’m definitely getting better at this.

I look at my reflection, at the center of a maelstrom of possibilities. First, I need to change my complexion.

I’m paler than either of my moms – I always hated that. My brother used to claim that all the good genes went to Big Sis and him, and the clinic scraped the bottom of the barrel to make me. I try to change my skin color, but it’s weirdly difficult. Few people of Vorokan origin are that dark, and my ancestors lived here for as long as we can find information.

But of course, I shouldn’t change my skin. I should change myself.

The picture and the sparse profile data don’t tell me who Tharvais is. But I can fill the blanks.

Xe was born in Landfall, where the whole of humanity mixes, and shades of brown are the most common complexion. Xe’s from a moderately wealthy family, whose mansion… no, wait, mansions are for rich people. Xe’s from a family whose small, crappy apartment had a window facing the Ship. Xe grew up looking at it, and became ever more curious about our forgotten past.

Xe’s bookish and serious, xe was always good at school - I’ll have to check if xir academic record matches this, but I can adapt later. Xe loves the peace of sitting down and reading, xir mind doesn’t spin in confusion every time xe opens a book.

Xe didn’t fail at everything xe ever tried, because xe didn’t feel as if everything was impossibly hard most of the time, and strangely easy at other times, making everyone convinced xir failures were out of laziness.

Xe had close friends in Landfall, and misses them now. A small group, because xe was a little strange, but xe didn’t spout random inappropriate things all the time, and xe found people who shared xir passions.

And of course, xe didn’t, in anger and frustration, try to force xemself to be someone different. Xe never saw the world go blue, never felt something break within xemself, never saw blue light streaming from xir fingers at night. Xe didn’t run from home in panic.

Well, fuck xem. Xe doesn’t know what xe’s missing out.

Now that I know who I am looking for, I stare into my ever-splitting mirror image. There’s boy in a uniform, a girl with a serious expression, a kid laughing madly, xir arms blue glass from the elbow down. More reflections spin from those - one looks like the version of me in the Night Club, white-haired and attractive and smiling.

In the sea of possible faces, I reach for Tharvais, for the serious, calm, bookish student--who also has an irreverent streak, I decide, because I wouldn’t want to get bored halfway through a heist.

I find the right Lie, deep into a spiral of alternate mes, and I draw it to me. Tharvais looks too much like Korentis, at first, but I fix it to match the picture on the tablet – I give xem brown, round eyes, sharper features, a flat nose instead of Korentis’ pointy one.

I look at myself in the mirror. I’m definitely Tharvais. Letting go of the Else, I compare my reflection with the pictures. I make my skin a shade lighter, change the chin a bit - it’s easier than changing Korentis’ face. Interesting. That’s probably because as Tharvais, I have a less clear mental picture of myself.

My mirror reflection looks almost identical to my ID picture, but I frown. I’m annoyed at the silly t-shirt I’m wearing, with a print of some comics character throwing lightning from their hands - I’m not twelve years old, I should get a more dignified tunic, or at least a neutral color shirt.

On the other hand, I’m studying abroad. I take my education seriously, but one should go a little bit wild, to foster creativity. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them, my hair is white. Dyed, obviously, you can even see a little bit of black regrowth.

I leave my face bare - the ID picture doesn’t include tattoos, so I’ll add them later, after I’m sure I got the features right. It’s uncomfortable, though - I fight the urge to cover my face with my hands. Interesting - Korentis never cared much about tattoos, but I do.

I turn to Iketek. She’s a solid ally, focused and reliable. A pity she doesn’t want to join me as a student. We could work well together.

“So, what do you say?” I ask. “My appearance seems to match the picture nicely, but I can’t see myself from every angle, obviously. You should run your facial recognition algorithms.”

She blinks in surprise.

“You’re good at Lies,” she says, “you know you don’t need to act now, though, right?”

“It’s not exactly a matter of acting,” I explain, “a stable Lie is more than just a visual disguise. Don’t worry, I know who I am, and my purpose is unchanged. I’m just… a little different.”

Her eyes flare gold for a moment, and from her expression, I think she’s worried. She’s probably unfamiliar with my power. From what I gathered, the Path of Lies is fairly rare, even within mages.

“Should I add a few wrinkles? Hunch a little?” I ask, making sure to keep a serious tone. “I mean, I’m twenty-three. That’s ancient.”

She looks confused for a moment, then she laughs, and seems reassured.

“Don’t you dare, you little shit,” she says, and starts scanning me with her phone.

“You check 98% positive from the front,” she says, “75% from the side, we’ll have to work on those jaw bones. Overall it’s very good. You have a real gift for this.”

There’s a brief moment of confusion, because part of me wants to answer yeah, that’s the only thing I was ever any good at, but that makes no sense. I’ve several valuable skills, even if I try to stay humble.

“Let’s fix that jaw, then,” I say. “After that, I’ll work on some proper tattoos. And buy more appropriate clothes. I want to make a good impression in class.”

***

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

After shopping for Tharvis’ clothes, we sit together on the living room’s floor. Daravoi is horribly overcooking some hapless curry rice, while Iketek is working on setting up wards. Since I can’t salvage our supper from Dara, I look at her as she works.

She moves both hands, weaving golden light in writhing strands that look like a tangle of snakes. She used a pencil to trace complex circles of anchor glyphs over the walls - a mundane drawing has no magical effect, but you can use it as a reference to make the binding easier.

I never managed to create wards. I tried to follow the Introduction to Else-manipulation’s instructions, but they’re full of concepts I can’t follow, and Korentis… I got bored quickly of trying spells which never work.

But focusing is easier than usual, today, so I peek into the Else and carefully watch Iketek work. Her binding anchors are very complex, but I could replicate them with some patience. What really matters is the way she folds the Veil itself, I finally realize. That was the part I never understood before: to set up a ward, you must Reach into the Else, but instead of Summoning, you just… twist the Veil in a certain way, and then use Bindings to fix it in place.

It reminds me of physics lessons at school - you can engineer special materials that cancel sound, or light, by refracting it in such a way that it cancels itself. That’s how these wards work! I still don’t follow the details, but I understand she’s setting up two different enchantments: one will force external magic to slide along the wall, without entering the room. That’s the anti-divination ward, I assume. The other will dampen waves in the Else coming from inside our apartment, so that our magic will be harder to detect. Iketek said these wards will allow us to use minor magic without risk of detections, like a lesser version of the Thaumocracy fortress.

Magic is really fascinating! I should dedicate some time to get a better grasp of its fundamentals, instead of fooling around with whatever new spell catches my fancy.

I try to get a better understanding of Iketek’s binding scheme - she has covered most of the outer wall in golden lines, invisible in the Here, by the time Daravoi announces his so-called curry rice is ready.

I suppose I shouldn’t complain, since Dara’s doing all the cooking and seems happy about it, but his recipe for everything seems to be boil it until it’s a flavorless mush.

“I was thinking, there’s an obvious problem with my background,” I say, while Dara fills our dishes. “I supposedly grew up in Landfall. But I’m obviously not a native Fallish speaker, and I have a clear Vorokan accent.”

That makes no sense, Fallish is my native language - no, that isn’t true. I should keep a clear separation between what’s real and what’s a Lie. But then again, I should act my part, to make it convincing, right? It will be fine as long as I remember who Korentis was.

“Not as big a deal as you could think,” Iketek answers. “Remember, more than a hundred-million people live in Landfall. That’s more than the whole Vorokan Republic. You can just claim you grew up in a neighborhood of ethnic Vorokans. As for the accent, criticizing - or even mentioning - anyone’s accent sounds provincial, so you should never do it. Oh, and you should call the language Ship Standard. Only foreigners call it Fallish.”

Daravoi sighs.

“Landfallers are the worst people ever. Racists, snobs and smug,” he says. “Korentis is bad enough in xir real identity. Xe’ll be absolutely insufferable, now.”

Iketek nods. “It was a convenient background. Vorok’s bureaucracy works much better than Landfall’s, so making a fake Vorokan ID is very complex. Incidentally, Daravoi, you should practice your fake identity, too, even if it should be easier since you’ll still be Kalestran.”

Daravoi shrugs, clearly unhappy. “Honestly,” he says, “Korentis is much better than me at this. And I’d need xir help to keep up the Lie up anyway. I think I’d be a liability, I’ll just hang around by the university in case xe needs help.”

I nod. It’s a very reasonable proposal.

“I think I’ll have to do most of this alone,” I say. “I’ll need you as backup if I get in trouble, or possibly when I’ll actually steal the relic.”

Strangely, I’m happy that neither Iketek nor Dara will be with me as I pretend to be a student. It will be easier, I think, without being around people who know the real Korentis.

“New identity or not, I don’t like letting Korentis do something alone,” Daravoi says, looking at me. “But I can’t… just become someone else, like xe does.”

“Progressing one’s skill, magical or not, is just a matter of study and dedication,” I say. “If you can’t change your identity convincingly, you should ponder deeply about the Path of Lies, and gain a better understanding of yourself.”

They both stare at me, worried, so I smile and stick out my tongue. It feels strange and pointlessly childish, but Korentis would do that. “Chill, I’m still me, I’m fucking with you.”

Daravoi’s jaw unclenches. “That’s weirdly reassuring,” he says.

“Anyway,” Iketek says, businesslike, “You should learn more about Landfall’s quirks. For example, you still aren’t eating properly - you should stay on your knees, not cross-legged.”

I frown. “Isn’t that pointlessly uncomfortable?”

“Not when a family of six needs to eat in a room smaller than this,” Iketek says, “taking space is very rude in Landfall. Also, we’re civilized people and we use rugs or mats, so stop sitting on the bare floor.”

I realize Dara and Iketek are kneeling on those small woven rugs - how could I forget about it? Sitting on the floor is simply uncivilized. I mirror Iketek’s position. I’m sure my knees will hate it soon - but after all, I’ve always eaten in this position, it might be uncomfortable, but it feels right.

“What if I meet other Landfallers, and they ask me about where I grew up?” I ask. “Korentis… I’ve never even been to Landfall!”

Daravoi rolls his eyes. “What’s the point of being filthy rich if you don’t even travel.”

My mothers and Big Sis don’t like leaving Rakavdon. Jolien used to take me on short trips, until we got arrested for vandalism after we added fake exit signs in a mall store and caused a huge congestion. Moms got really mad and forbade me from visiting Jolien unless Big Sis joined us. And since Big Sis and Joli can’t stand each other, we never did.

I open my mouth to tell that - the mall story is pretty funny - but then I stop myself. It would be weird to talk about Korentis’ life. Also, it’s an irrelevant side tangent.

“The fact stands that I haven’t traveled much,” I say, “and I’ve never been to Landfall or the Riverlands.”

“Again, don’t worry too much, the city is vast beyond understanding, no one would expect to know your specific neighborhood,” Iketek says. “But remember to call it the City, not Landfall. You can call it Landfill if you want to be snarky. There is only one City, and everywhere else in the world - especially Rakavdon - is a town, or a village if you want to be exceptionally snob.”

“Well, Rakavdon is a town, and a fairly small one at that,” I say. It’s not even as populous as a neighborhood in Landfall. In the City.

“Unmaker’s tits, I hate xem already,” Daravoi grumbles, pinching his nose.

“That’s the spirit,” Iketek says, nodding. “Anyway, if someone wants to talk about Landfall, switch to a safe topic as soon as you can. But you can also make up stories on the spot. You can get away with a surprising amount of bullshit, as long as you remember a few rules. Get those wrong, and you’ll sound like a foreigner.

“First rule,” she says, counting on her fingers, “nothing about Landfall is ever surprising, let alone impossible. The Ship’s Blessing causes unpredictable, poorly documented anomalies, after all. And for each real anomaly, there are ten urban legends. So, if someone tells you there are flying alligators in their neighborhood, you should nod as if it was nothing extraordinary, and say yeah, I hate those, or claim something even more outrageous.”

“You’re joking, right?” I ask, “There are no flying alligators in Landfall, right?”

She looks me dead in the eyes, her face utterly serious. “I don’t know if that specific story is real. But I can tell you that I lived in an overbuilt, poorly planned neighborhood, where very little sunlight made it to ground level, and regular street lamps were prone to frequent failures.

“So, the neighborhood council decided to introduce bioluminescent plankton. It soon turned out that kind of bioluminescence could be transferred along the food chain, and built up in apex predators. Long story short, where I lived, public illumination was mostly provided by glowing alligators.”

I nod. “Yeah, I hate those. We had them where I lived, too. But a few blocks from my flat, they touched an underwater relic, and learned to levitate. Glowing, flying alligators are the worst.”

She and Daravoi both laugh, and I join them.

“You’re getting the spirit,” Iketek says. “Second rule. Always complain about Vorokan food. That’s not because you’re Landfaller, it’s because everyone hates Vorokan food. What’s wrong with you, can’t you eat algae like everyone else instead of disgusting insects?”

She says the last part with some vehemence. I nod, but honestly, she’s exaggerating - of course algae paste tastes better than insects and has a much less disturbing texture, but we should be respectful of our hosts’ culture.

“In the same vein,” she continues, “complain about the weather, all the time. Partly because it’s always warm and sunny in Landfall, partly because this place is a frozen nightmare and no human should ever have settled here. You should often mention that the Vorokans are provincial and prudes - Landfallers don’t get why people who don’t live in a flooded tropical city wear more clothes than they do.”

“The weather part will be easy,” I say, “I’ve always hated the cold. Anything else?”

“A lot of stuff, but these are the most obvious tells of a provincial. Incidentally, provincial is the worst insult from a Landfaller, and anything who isn’t from Landfall, or is from Landfall but not enough, is provincial. Having said that, I don’t expect any of this to be relevant. There are only a handful of Landfaller students in Rakavdon, since the City has its own center for Precursor Studies, and it’s very prestigious.”

“So, if I meet a Landfaller student,” I say, “I’ll just say how much I love to eat putrid algae naked under the Ship or something like that…”

Iketek opens her eyes, horrified.

“Don’t mention the Ship! Never mention it!”

“Wait, what?” I ask, “Is it unlucky?”

“Worse, it’s provincial,” she says, shaking her head in disapproval, “Landfallers pretend it’s not there.”

“What the fuck?” Daravoi asks, as he adds seasoning in a futile attempt to make his rice edible. “Isn’t it, like, a kilometer tall?”

“Yeah, and twenty long. You see it from everywhere in the City,” Iketek says, as if it were obvious, “that’s why only provincials notice it. At most, you may mention it feels strange living in a city without an ancient, giant starship stranded in its center, but be careful, that stinks of provincialism, too.”

“These rules make no sense,” I say, “I love them.”

***